


cause nobody ever did it like me

by loganes



Category: Big Time Rush, Big Time Rush RPF
Genre: M/M, bros broning, sry not sry, was coerced into this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loganes/pseuds/loganes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James gets food poisoning in Canada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cause nobody ever did it like me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Drake, because he's my fave. This takes place on 9/14/12, aka Logan's bday, the date of the Calgary show during their summer tour, and the day James got "gnarly" food poisoning. So, good times, all those things are true, in case you wanted to know. Mostly unbeta'd, yolo.
> 
> Wrote this for Sam, who provided the idea and showers me with jagan love all the time. Enjoy, babe.

James gets food poisoning in Canada, and it's pretty fucking stupid. They're on the last leg of the tour, just another month left, and so far they've all managed to stay healthy and uninjured aside from the unavoidable exhaustion. (It's a good exhaustion, though, the kind that's countered by adrenaline every time, constant push-pull of rush, relax, high, low, and it's crazy and James wouldn't give it up for anything. None of them would.)

When he wakes up he feels like shit for a couple minutes, and then he feels way worse when he stumbles to the bathroom to throw up. It's not even that light out, yet, so something's definitely fucked. He's one of the earlier risers but he knows to take as much sleep as he can get, these days.

He pukes up everything in his stomach and then some, and doesn't really feel better at all. If he can make it happen, he's playing the show tonight, so he calls a few people and they get him to the nearest ER in Calgary. They tell him he's got food poisoning and there's not much to do but wait it out, but they give him an IV to try and speed up the process. James is, like, 99 percent sure it was the meatball sub he'd bought at a gas station around two in the morning, and, frankly, he feels kind of betrayed, because meatballs are the _best_. Still, gas station food can be skeevy anywhere, and he's pissed, but not in a way that’s directed anything.

When he manages to check his phone after a couple hours near the hospital toilet, he’s got a shit ton of texts; there are a couple from Kendall, Carlos, and some other important people he’ll need to update on his status, but the rest are from Logan, which—he’s not really surprised, except there’s this warm feeling spreading through his gut that’s got nothing to do with bad meat and everything to do with something he usually tries to ignore.

James swallows and scrolls through them, lots of _dude r u ok_ s and ridiculous emoticons that don’t even make sense, and he smirks a little at _such a fragile disposition, dude, try sipping ur one beer next time ;)_. His smile drops fast, though, because, fuck, it’s Logan’s birthday and they’re having a party tonight and there’s just no way he’s gonna be up for that. His stomach’s hurting again, and he doesn’t have time to reply before he has to run to the bathroom, slipping a little in his socks. He’s pretty sure the nurses are laughing at him; _fuck_ that noise, he’s suffering, and aren’t nurses supposed to be sympathetic, jesus.

He collapses back into his hospital bed about twenty minutes later, fumbling around for his phone. He shoots a mass text out, though he’s sure his manager already told everyone who matters what’s up.

 _who the fuck r u callin fragile, im not the one who had a day long hangover from strawberry martinis_ , he sends to Logan, deciding to answer in the safest way. He’s not really sure what he’d say to _if you need anything, im here_ other than something probably embarrassing and definitely not appropriate for what they are.

Logan replies immediately, which means he was waiting for James to reply, because he’s not one to check his phone needlessly.

_pink drinks r the bomb, ur just jealous ur not man enough_

James snorts, fingers working over the keyboard. _2 words: cross dressing_

_that was one time. what happens on halloween stays on halloween and i made a great nicki_

His stomach still feels like something died in it, but it’s getting easier to ignore, now. He still has pictures on his phone of Logan in that shitty pink wig, drawn-on purple lips, and a fake booty, in a terrifying attempt for Nicki Minaj one night during Halloween week (because shit lasted a week, at least, no one’s fault Halloween landed on a Monday). They’d made their appearances at various parties, but there was one night when it’d just been the cast of Big Time Rush and a few other close friends and, honestly, none of them remember much. James vaguely recalls giving Fox beer, but he’ll deny it to anyone who asks. No one was coordinated enough to work a camera past the beginning of the night, so, like, there’s no proof, and everyone knows it’s pics or it didn’t happen.

His phone pings, Logan again. _she can’t compete with this ass_ , it reads, and James blinks, hesitating a little. _maybe cuz it’s not worth competing with_ , he sends, finally.

Logan answers fast. _don’t be a hater, u love my ass_

James swallows and puts his phone down. He’d rather not head down this road, honestly, because whether Logan knows it or not (James really hopes _not_ ) he’s right. He’s too tired to be thinking about this shit, right now, and he’s prepared to just close his eyes while the IV pumps fluids through him when Logan sends another message.

_gonna miss u tonight_

James raises an eyebrow and promptly shoves down the hope that’s rising in his throat. _im playing the show even if i have to poop my pants_

_gross. i meant at my party. feelin better yet?_

_a little. gonna try and sleep. have a drink for me ok_ , James sends, and then puts his phone on silent. Logan’s got people around to entertain him.

 

 

He wakes up a few hours later feeling better, not one hundred-percent but getting there. He uses the bathroom one more time, but he thinks he’s done. There’s literally nothing left in him to throw up, and he’s starting to get hungry again, which is a good sign. He knows food poisoning takes a day or two to recover from, and he’s definitely not going to be at his best tonight, but there’s no point in letting fans down if he can manage to get himself there. It’s afternoon, now, and he shoots a text out letting everyone know what’s going on. At least then people won’t expect him to be stellar, or anything, and he can get away with being a little tired, a little off.

There aren’t any more texts from Logan (which James tells himself is a good thing, dude’s just trying to enjoy his birthday) so he entertains himself with Grand Theft Auto. If he’s in the mood for a little violence, well, he’s got fucking food poisoning, he’s entitled. He crashes like eight times and shoots a bunch of people and is in a way better mood by the time his doctor comes in to check on him, Billy trailing behind since he’s handling any press on this.

He gets asked a bunch more routine questions, answers best he can, and makes sure the doctor knows he really needs to be out of here before 7, preferably earlier so he’ll have time to eat something substantial and get ready.

“We can have you out by six, if you want,” the doctor replies, “but until then I want to keep you on the IV, just to try and flush everything out best we can. Sound good?”

James glances at Billy, checking with him, and nods. “Thanks very much.”

“You’re welcome. It was nice meeting you, James. I’ll have Beth come in when you’re ready to go. Good luck tonight.”

James thanks him again and settles back onto the pillows, fully prepared to count down the hour.

 

 

His tweet gets a good response—all the fans seem understanding, if a little disappointed that he’s for sure missing the meet and greet, but he really just needs to eat something that won’t make him puke and hydrate some more, and maybe work out a little to energize himself. He’s sitting in the bus finishing up some soup he picked up (he avoided gas stations, this time, just went to a small café that looked healthy enough) when his phone rings. James flushes, but no one’s there to see it, so he’s all good.

“’Lo?” he answers, chewing through his last piece of bread. Whatever, Logan hears him talk with his mouth full all the time.

“Heard you’re out,” Logan says, talking over some loud rap that sounds like Drake. Typical.

“How’s the party?”

“Fuckin’ hilarious. Lots of cowboy shit. That was totally your idea.”

James laughs. “Caught me.”

“Don’t stereotype me just ‘cause I’m from Texas,” Logan teases, and the background noise fades suddenly. “Wow, much better out here. Sorry about that.”

“Dude, it’s your party, go enjoy it. Thought I told you to get drunk for me.” It’s a joke, because there’s no way any of them ever want to try getting onstage shitfaced. Logan might work up a buzz, at most.

“Can’t really enjoy it when you’re fucking dying alone on that bus,” Logan says, tone mocking, but the words are serious enough to make James pause, swallow, try to steady the way his heart jumps.

“If I was dying, no way would I be spending my last moments here. Maybe a strip club,” he muses.

“Strip club my ass. You’d surf through your last _breath_. With Fox. I guess someone else would have to be there to take care of Fox, though, after,” Logan says.

James snickers. “Yeah, okay, you’re invited. When I drop dead in the water that’s your cue to take Fox and go.”

Logan’s laughing, now, and James feels the same rush he does whenever he makes Logan laugh, or smile, or whatever. This kind of conversation, in all its ridiculousness, is kind of just par for the course, though.

“No goodbyes, just me and Fox alone on a beach. Sounds poetic. Am I allowed to take a picture of your death? Because I bet you’ll look fucking stupid.”

“I’ll haunt you for mocking my death, motherfucker. I better see tears.” James switches his phone to his other ear, leaning back on the couch. He’s got time to digest, then work out, then maybe spend a while in the bathroom just to make sure he’s set for the show.

“You’re not gonna see shit, you’ll be _dead_ ,” Logan argues. “You’ll never know. Maybe I’ll fart in your face, post-mortem. Maybe Fox will pee on you.”

James lets out a real laugh, sharp and hard, because he’s trying to picture this. “Asshole,” he says. It doesn’t come across all that angry.

“No, but. I’d probably cry a lot,” Logan says, all casual, but James can hear an undertone of—something. He’s not sure what, though, which kind of pisses him off, because normally he has no problem with that shit, knows Logan better than he knows himself, sometimes.

Logan doesn’t really say shit like this, ever, not the type to let his emotions show if he can help it. James is the same, so he gets it; he’s generous with smiles, definitely, but they’re both guarded, more inclined towards privacy than openness. It’s part of the reason they get along so well, being able to read each other and know when to say something, when to stay quiet, when a distraction’s needed. Their years of familiarity help with that, obviously, but they’d clicked as soon as they met, before the show was even a sure thing, and that easy chemistry’s mostly why James is so fucking gone for him.

“I’ll stockpile tissues for you, then,” James says, trying to lighten this up, because it feels…serious, suddenly, like they’re talking about something else entirely.

“Make sure they’re scented. The softest kind,” Logan says, going with it, and he sounds kind of grateful.

He’s lucky James is so magnanimous about his shit. “Okay, princess,” he says. “Do you want them pink, too, like your drinks?”

“Why not,” Logan says cheekily. “But, uh, Carlos says I need to, and I quote, ‘get my ass back inside so they can force feed me cake.’”

James just wants to _be there_ , so badly, and he lets his breath out through his teeth. “Yeah, please go get fatter. Make sure you’ll still be able to dance tonight.”

“You saying I can actually dance? That’s a first.”

James grins. “It’s your birthday. I gotta be nice.”

“You just called me fat, Maslow.”

James hears Carlos, then, in the background, swearing loudly at Logan, and he smiles a little. “Go eat your fucking cake. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, serious again, and James hangs up before he can say anything else.

His food’s not entirely digested and James doesn’t exactly want to fuck with his stomach any more but he needs to, like, do some pushups, something mindless. Logan’s being fucking weird, and sometimes James thinks he sees him _looking_ but that’s, that’s just him projecting, and he can’t let himself hope for something that he’s never going to have. It’s just because he’s sick, and Logan cares; they’re best fucking friends, of course he cares, nothing abnormal about that.

James is through his regular rep of seventy before he knows it, and decides just to keep going because all he’s done today is lie in a bed and wait and he’s so fucking restless all of a sudden. He’s tempted to go for a jog, but someone’s coming by soon to check on him, and he’d probably get yelled at.

 

 

The next hour passes impossibly slow, it seems like, and he’s just about crawling out of his skin. His stomach still feels kind of weird but he can’t wait to get on stage, so glad he has that outlet. They’re all going half-crazy from being on tour so long, lots of cramped quarters and long hours with the same faces for company, and the tour’s been amazing but part of him can’t wait til it’s done. He never thought he’d miss a bed so much, yet here he is, daydreaming about his mattress. God.

He jumps a little when the bus door bangs open and everyone piles in, talking loudly.

“Let’s goooo,” Kendall says, whacking James on the foot as he passes. They’re parked at the venue, did sound check that morning while James was in the hospital, and James blinks, because it’s actually dark out (when the fuck did that happen, what) and time to get things going. James stands up too fast and has to wait a second for his vision to correct, then grins wide, pulling his phone out. Logan has cake _all over his face_. He snaps a picture while Logan scowls.

“This,” he gestures wildly at his face, “is not my fault. They wouldn’t let me take it off until we got back here. This ain’t how you treat the birthday boy, I swear to god.”

James rolls his eyes, then turns for the bathroom. “Come on.” He holds a towel under the sink for a couple seconds and hands it to Logan, smirking while Logan wipes the frosting off his cheeks, nose, lips. He’s staring, he knows, but he looks at Logan all the time, okay, and it’s never been weird, just something James dealt with on his own. He’s feeling nauseous again, actually, though he’s not sure if that’s of remnants of the food poisoning or because he’s not quite comfortable around Logan right now.

“Um,” he manages, and, okay, food poisoning. He shoves Logan away from the toilet—it’s a small bathroom—and throws up, again, because his life sucks.

Logan’s face is mostly clean except for a little bit of icing near his ear, and it's all scrunched up. “Dude.”

“Sorry,” James breathes, face still turned into the toilet bowl. “I think I’m good now?”

He’s not prepared for Logan to slide a hand through the hair at the base of his neck and squeeze, quick pressure that he leans into more than he should.

“Hope so. You probably shouldn’t be getting on stage right now, but I’ll let it slide,” Logan says.

James shakes his head incredulously, _let it slide_ , he’s not vomiting on purpose. “You make no sense.”

“Takes one to know one,” Logan chirps, which also doesn’t make much sense and is also so, so weak.

“You’re having a lot of trouble, maybe you should take a breather, let the pros handle comebacks.”

“You’re leaning on a grody bus toilet,” Logan counters.

Fair argument. James sits up, shrugging, and he actually feels good for the first time today.

“Show time,” he grins.

“Disgusting. Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” Logan sings, doing a weird little dance on his way out of the bathroom. James waits to laugh at him until after he’s out of earshot, but only because it’s his birthday.

 

 

Being on stage feels as amazing as it always does. He knows he’ll never get sick of this, and if he’s more tired than he’d usually be he’s trying not to let it show. He thinks he’s doing okay, but Logan keeps glancing at him once they start If I Ruled the World. He should’ve made sure to eat something else before the show since he’d thrown up his soup, his bad, he’ll be fine. He tries to let Logan know it’s all good; there’s no other reason for Logan to be looking at him. Halfway There’s up next, sung in the crowd, and James has got this.

He’s not sure what Logan sees—hell, he’s not fucking sure of anything, today—but they get to the bridge, near the end of the song, and Logan’s just _there_ , even though James knows he’d been a couple hundred feet away seconds ago.

He doesn’t stumble over the words, or anything, but he reaches out, unable to help himself, and puts his hand on Logan’s shoulder, solid warmth under his palm. He feels immediately steadier, which is absurd because he hadn’t realized anything was off. Logan leans into it slightly, nudging their bodies together, and he moves away after a bit but stays close, eyes on James the whole time.

It’s like that for the rest of the show. James feels it like a phantom itch and doesn’t know what it means. Logan’s taking something normal for them, an every day thing, and turning it into something else, and he doesn’t fucking know what. There’s a tension between them tonight that’s familiar, yeah, except for how James has never felt the need to acknowledge it before. They’re always different, exaggerated, on stage, easier with traded touches, but that’s the adrenaline, never something that lingered after the encore. James didn’t let it, hadn’t thought it would hold. Now, though, he’s not sure, so fucking uncertain, and it puts him on edge.

He’s grinding his teeth, involuntary bad habit, as they make their way back to the bus, finally, another long drive ahead of them. Something like 13 hours, he remembers, to Vancouver. At least they’ve got a day off, so James can catch up on the sleep he lost.

There’s still shit to do before they can leave so he helps mindlessly, forcing himself not to think about anything, and it kind of works. Everyone disperses, then, ready to leave so they can get to Vancouver by midday. Carlos and Kendall pass out immediately in their bunks but James is still kind of restless, tired in a bone-deep way after helping the stage crew clear everything out and pack up except for the buzz he’s still got going. There’s nothing to do but settle in for the drive, so James plops himself heavily on the couch. Video games are better than nothing, though it’s a worn pastime from months of nothing else to do.

He gets into it anyway—Modern Warfare is _never_ not going to be fun—and just as he makes a really great headshot Logan’s there, blocking the screen.

James makes a noise of protest and Logan stares at him for a long moment before moving to sit down next to him. Fucking weirdo. James is so exhausted he’s almost high from it, just barely suppressing a giggle.

“What’s up with you?” Logan asks, tone sharper than it has any right to be at two-something in the morning.

“Hm?” James says, focus back on his game, carefully on purpose.

“You’re—aren’t you tired? You should sleep, you were puking like all day.”

Logan’s notoriously the night owl, so James thinks this is kind of rich, coming from him, but he’s also like ninety percent sure that’s not what Logan was going to say. “Can’t, yet,” he says, shrugging. “Body’s tired, mind’s still going. You know how it is.”

“Yeah…” Logan says, drawing the word out the way he does when he’s not finished talking. It takes a few more headshots on James’s part, but then, “Today fucking sucked, you know, one of my worst birthdays, because everyone was great but you weren’t there having a good time with me and it, it just, it felt wrong, and it’s really stupid how I need you around all the time but I do.”

He says it all in one breath, and James feels like he should put his controller down. He turns to Logan, not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s sure as fuck not for Logan (who’s already looking at him, has been the whole time) to lean in and kiss him.

It knocks the air out of his chest, somehow, even though Logan’s gone before James can really feel it.

“What,” he manages, once he can find half his voice.

Logan’s got this look on his face, guilty and apologetic and defiant, which is wrong and so unnecessary. “It’s my birthday, so,” Logan says, lips twisting into something that’s not really a smile. “Sorry.”

James shakes his head once. His heart’s about to pound out of his fucking chest and he’s almost shaking and there’s this dissonance between his head and his body, a lag where he has to catch up with himself.

“I didn’t brush my teeth,” he says, only thing he can say, and then he kisses Logan, hard and unrepentant. He gets it now.

Logan’s frozen for about two seconds before he gets with the program, curling a hand in James’s hair and opening his mouth, _fuck_ , yes. James licks into his mouth, completely unashamed of the noise he makes when Logan tightens his grip on James’s hair and sucks on his tongue, zero to sixty in five seconds. He pulls Logan closer, leaning back at the same time until Logan’s on top of him, bodies pressed together in all the right ways. It’s hard to breathe, and James just wants to touch, get his hands everywhere, because this is happening, and he can’t stop now that he’s started.

Logan’s hand slides down to James’s face, thumb pressing just this side of painful into his jawbone, and that really fucking does it for him, shit. He groans and rolls his hips up, no control over what his body’s doing right now, and he can _feel_ Logan’s breath hitch, and, even better, can feel how into it Logan is, hard against his thigh. Logan drags his lips down to James’s neck, sucking and biting but careful not to leave a mark where other people could see, and—

They both pause at the same time. Logan’s arms are braced against the couch on either side of James, muscles tight and corded, and he’s breathing like he just finished a marathon. James is no better, and he’s so fucking hard, wants really badly just to press Logan down against him again so he can get himself off that way. But.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Logan breathes, dropping his forehead to James’s shoulder. “Also, fuck you, I told you to brush your teeth. You’re lucky I didn’t want to wait.”

The words are muffled since his mouth’s trapped against James’s shirt, but they’re audible and James smirks way softer than he means to, because that’s kind of oddly sweet. He doesn’t apologize, not sorry at all, and he drank plenty of water during the show so he probably doesn’t taste _that_ bad. Logan’s right, though, they shouldn’t do this here. James still isn’t entirely sure what ‘this’ is, because while he totally wants to get his hands on Logan’s junk, and vice versa, he knows this could fuck things up if they’re not on the same page, and they don’t need Kendall or Carlos or anyone walking in and making all kinds of assumptions.

James moves to sit up and Logan goes with him, shifting so Logan’s kind of half on his lap, facing him, which works because James can’t physically stop himself from touching him. He’s got one hand on Logan’s thigh, the other bunched in his shirt, and, god, they really need to figure out what they’re doing. He’s just glad he changed into sweats, since his hard-on would be _way_ more uncomfortable right now in tight jeans.

“Where we gonna go, then,” James says, raw edge to his tone that he can’t help. After everything this barely feels real, and for a minute he’s confused as to how they got to this point, hadn’t for a second ever thought this thing was mutual.

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying all this out loud until Logan shakes his head, says, “I think we were always heading towards this point,” and then turns red enough for the both of them. “I mean. Bathroom? At least it locks. And I need a new memory of you in there. You puke pretty ugly.”

James raises his eyes to the ceiling, because he’s seriously doubting his own taste right now. “I’m a hundred and twenty percent sure everyone in the entire world pukes ‘ugly’, Christ, you freak.”

Logan doesn’t answer, just makes a noncommittal noise, and when James looks back down at him he’s not blushing anymore. His eyes are dark, and James thinks he can feel the impatience, the adrenaline, thrumming just under Logan’s skin. Thing is, maybe it’s him or, more likely, both of them, because they’ve always fed off each other’s emotions and everything’s heightened, electric.

“Yeah. Bathroom,” James says, barely getting the words out before Logan’s standing and pulling him after. They haven’t talked, not really, but that can wait, because apparently they’ve both been fucking hurtling towards this for a long time and there’s no way can stop, too much inertia.

James locks the door once they’re both inside and Logan just presses him back against it, crowding him in, and they’re not kissing but might as well be, with the air they’re sharing. James makes a noise in his throat and slides a hand behind Logan’s neck, slow and confident, and kisses him. It’s not as rushed as before, but it’s deep, and there’s still that same desperate edge that they can’t seem to get away from.

He tries to take his time, learn the way Logan tastes with his tongue, except then Logan shifts against him just right and, shit, _yeah_ , that’s what he wants.

He drops a hand to Logan’s back (even though there’s no way they could be closer, no space between them at all) and Logan moans into his mouth, sliding a leg between James’s and pressing in, working it up in the best kind of pressure. James could easily get off just from this, grinding against Logan and coming in his pants like a teenager, and it sounds like Logan could too, little groans in his throat that resonate as Logan slides his tongue behind his teeth. He’s breathless and James can feel how hard he is, and suddenly this isn’t enough, so he gets a hand between them, slipping it into Logan’s sweats—no boxers, typical, and James grins against his lips—and closing it around Logan’s cock. He strokes once, slow drag of his fist, testing this out, because he’s never held another guy’s dick before.

“Fuck,” Logan chokes out, jerking into James’s grip. His eyes are fucking wild, almost black with want, and James licks his lips, wondering if he looks the same, if they’re mirrored. James can’t even smirk, and part of him wants to take his time with this, wants to see his hand around Logan’s cock, but he can’t drag his eyes away from Logan’s face. His mouth is open and his eyes are half-lidded, and he’s holding onto James neck like it’s all that’s keeping him there.

“Shit, you’re so hot,” James says. He flicks his hand up the length of Logan’s cock, twists his wrist a little, and Logan groans, shuddering against him. “Like that? Like my hand on your cock? God, you fucking love it, you can’t get enough, bet you’d come as soon as I got on my knees,” he babbles, thoughtless stream of words he can’t control.

Logan just nods speechlessly, hips jerking messily, and he drops his head to James’s shoulder. James can feel his breath come in pants, uneven, and he jerks Logan fast, hard, the way he does to himself, rubbing right under the head with his thumb.

“James,” Logan gasps, and that’s the only warning he gets before Logan’s coming all over his fist, body shaking.

James works him through it, slick and hot, and his own cock is fucking aching but that can wait. He slides his other hand up behind Logan’s head, pulling it back from his shoulder so he can kiss him, dirty and bruising. Logan makes a desperate noise into his mouth, swatting James’s hand away from his dick. James’s hand is covered in come and he slides it out of Logan’s sweats carefully, so curious, and breaks the kiss so he can slip a finger into his mouth to taste. It’s salty, expected, a little bitter, a little something he can’t explain. Not too unpleasant; he could get used to it.

“Holy shit,” Logan says on an exhale, and he’s kind of gaping at James. He slides his finger out of his mouth slowly, with a pop. He still needs to wipe his hand off, or something.

“What?” James asks, meaning it to come out flirty, but it doesn’t. He just sounds—wrecked, honestly, and he hasn’t even had his dick touched yet.

Logan smirks, now, and leans in, lips brushing against James’s, not quite a kiss. “Maybe next time you should suck my dick, get the full experience.” And then he’s dropping to his knees, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of James’s sweats to drag them halfway down his thighs. James can’t really breathe, at all, and that’s Logan’s hand on his cock and this is going to be over way faster than he wants it to be.

“Are you,” James starts, meaning to add ‘sure’, but at that point Logan rolls his eyes (rolls his fucking eyes, what, he is _on his knees_ , James can’t believe he’s into him) and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth. James groans and lets his head fall back against the door. Logan’s definitely never done this before—it’s sloppy and there’s the occasional scrape of teeth but it’s soso good, and Logan’s tonguing just under the head, jacking where his mouth doesn’t reach. He spreads his fingers through Logan’s hair reflexively, forcing himself not to tug his head forward. This is enough, shit, and Logan’s bobbing his head now, hollowing his cheeks and slicking his tongue along the underside, and James is already near the edge, so fucking close.

Logan’s got his eyes closed and his cheeks are flushed pink, lips stretched around James’s cock until he pulls back, leaving only the head in his mouth. James groans because it feels amazing but it’s not enough anymore, leaves him hanging, and he’s this close to begging when Logan tightens the hand on his hip and sinks down over the entire length of James’s cock. James lets out a strangled _fuck_ and comes down Logan’s throat, no warning, vision whiting out for a few seconds. Logan doesn’t choke or anything, just takes it, works him through it, and when James looks down Logan’s still on his knees, with a little bit of come at the corner of his lip.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” James says, sinking to the ground against the door. He can hear how destroyed his voice sounds and wonders if Logan’s is worse, since between the two of them only one’s had a dick in his mouth recently. He reaches out with his thumb to swipe away the come on his mouth, and Logan grabs his wrist to hold it there, sucking James’s thumb into his mouth. His dick gives a feeble twitch at that, because damn, but there’s no way he’s getting it up again in the near future.

“What?” Logan says, almost snarky, after he gives James his hand back.

“Do you just, like, not have a gag reflex? And, uh, have you done this before and not told me?”

“No gag reflex apparently, because I kinda just went for it, and, nope, never done this before,” Logan says, watching James carefully.

He relaxes imperceptibly, but still. “Then what was with the, the thumb thing, that’s not—”

Logan raises an eyebrow and cuts him off. “I watch porn, dude. Besides, there’s such thing as intuition. It felt right. And I wanted to taste your jizz for real, since most of it just went straight down my throat.”

James chokes on a cough and shakes his head. Less than a day ago he’d been in the ER, but he feels more than fine now. “How did this happen,” he whispers, under his breath. Logan hears it, of course he does, sitting close like the space is his to be in.

“Well,” Logan intones snottily, fucking shithead, “sometimes when a boy likes another boy in a _sexual wa_ —”

“Stop, don’t be a dick. That’s not what I meant.”

Logan sighs and shuts his mouth, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s either agitated or nervous. James hopes it’s the latter.

“Honestly? I don’t…I don’t know. You’ve always been hot to me, that’s nothing new, but. You’re always around and then suddenly today you weren’t, scared the fuck out of me, too, and I couldn’t do it. That’s. Really not normal for bros. I don’t generally miss Kendall or Carlos when they’re not around. You, though,” Logan trails off, low and quiet, and he’s not looking at James, eyes off to the side somewhere.

James isn’t having that. “Logan.”

Logan’s eyes flick back to his, raw and more open than James has ever seen them.

“Me too,” James says. It’s not the most eloquent thing he’s ever said, but it’s all Logan needs to hear; he gets it, always does.

His exhaustion’s catching up to him fast, now, and they should probably move so their muscles aren’t sore in the wrong places, so he stands slowly, taking Logan’s hand and helping him up. Logan’s right there, close enough for James to kiss, and, holyshit, he can actually do that now. It’s just a soft press of lips, gentle, not something he’s going to do often, but Logan smiles into it, all his walls down.

“What are we going to do?” James murmurs. It’s mostly rhetorical. He’s not going to stop this now that it’s started.

Logan makes a face as he unlocks the bathroom door. “Dunno. I don’t think Kendall and Carlos will care, and I don’t want to have to hide it, but that’s probably what we’ll have to do.” Logan pauses, hand motionless over the door handle. “As far as us, uh. Don’t know the answer to that either. We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

James laughs, so damn happy, and tugs Logan into his side, opening the door and manhandling him towards their bunks. It’s, like, four in the morning, and everyone but the driver’s passed the fuck out. “Yeah,” James says, just a breath against Logan’s mouth. “Yeah.”


End file.
